


kiss me once, shame on me

by yesterday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: “I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you,” Stiles said.“Where is your holiday spirit, Stiles? This is for charity; it said so outside.” Peter was smirking. He was right. Stiles set the sandwich board out there himself this morning—For every smooch under the mistletoe, one dollar will be donated to Beacon Hills Children’s Hospital!Forget everything Stiles ever said about Christmas cheer. He officially hated the holidays.





	kiss me once, shame on me

**Author's Note:**

> for the [december prompt](http://steternetwork.tumblr.com/post/168114745505/december-2017-prompt) at the steter network, which is holdiay cheer/fails. this one is based off of [number 3](http://hotpinklizard.tumblr.com/post/168169328250/festive-prompt-list) from this list. 
> 
> also, this fic is tagged as underage because stiles is still in high school, but i wrote this with him being 18 in mind.

Senior year Stiles got a job at a local coffee shop so hipster that his apparently outdated plaid and flannel look is “vintage” and “back in” (he didn’t even know it was out, because damn it, plaid is timeless) and got him hired on the spot. Which, cool. Running around and saving Beacon Hills from supernatural creatures is great and all, but it didn’t put money into his college tuition fund. 

It wasn’t terrible. The hours were flexible and he could do homework behind the bar when it was slow, and a constant, steady caffeine fix was at his disposal. Plus, the smell of fresh ground coffee beans was the shit. His coworkers are nice. Great, even. Nobody supernatural, just college kids and the owner. 

Come December the Christmas decor went up, and an actual, live tree took up residence in the corner of the shop. Stiles helped decorate it, pulling out some of the ornaments that had been packed away in the depths of his house for years, the delicate ones snug and safe and lovingly ensconced in layers of bubble wrap or paper. They were going to get some overdue light and fresh air this Christmas. 

So— holiday cheer, yadda yadda, and money to buy presents. No nothing going bump in the night for the past two weeks, and Stiles was kind of holding out hope that the trend would continue into the new year. Only kind of, because honestly? He was bored. 

But he didn’t ask for this. 

Probably no one ever asked for Peter Hale to waltz through the door of their place of employment, Stiles thought. Peter glanced at the menu and zeroed in on Stiles a heartbeat later, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. 

“A coffee shop, Stiles? A little mundane for you, but I suppose you do what you have to to get by,” Peter said. He leaned on the counter, the sleeves of his leather jacket crinkling. His hair was artfully tousled, and he smelled like crisp winter air and deep woods. Stiles caught himself huffing it in like a creep, and recoiled. Because hello, this was Peter Hale. Weird, mass-murdering uncle, former psychotic alpha, current sociopathic beta returned once from the grave. 

Huh. Actually, that was a cool list, like the traits an anti-hero comic book protagonist would have. Aaaand, yeah, just gonna caught that line of thought short there, because even if Peter was slightly less murder-y these days and a little pinch more helpful, he was still an asshole.

“Says the guy who probably doesn’t even have his license,” Stiles said. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have you know that all my papers are in order.” Peter wasn’t even looking at him, he was studying the menu again. 

“What happened to missing coma patient?” 

“Obviously I woke up after I was kidnapped by my psychotic nurse,” Peter said. “You’re a smart boy, Stiles. You should know that money has a fortunate effect of making the impossible possible. I want a large Salted Karma.” 

Stiles made a face. “That’ll be $5.25.” 

He scrawled a frowny face on Peter’s cup and passed it along to Ashley the barista, who was blatantly ogling the plunging neckline of Peter’s shirt and using the espresso machine as cover. Peter left Stiles, meek as you please, after paying. Stiles squinted at his retreating back. Peter was at a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon, and he liked salted caramel mochas. Maybe he was going to plot out his next scheme on one of the squashy couches in the corner? 

“Stiles,” Ashley hissed. “I need a name for the cup, not an emoji.” 

“Just give it to him, there’s no one else here!” 

“That’s not the point— _boys,_ I swear— no, wait, I can work with this.” And Stiles would ask what the hell he was missing here except Ashley was whisking the Salted Karma away from cash and to the bar where Peter was waiting. 

“Large Salted Karma for the guy who’s definitely a smiley face, not a frowny face. That’s Stiles’ fault,” Ashley said to Peter. 

“Charming,” Peter said, smiling at Ashley, his teeth very white and his grin crooked. Ashley winked at him, and asked for Peter’s name. For next time, she said, and Stiles realised with growing horror that Ashley was flirting with Peter. Flirting. Another customer showed up before Stiles could interfere; Stiles took ten years counting out the change because he was eavesdropping shamelessly on Ashley and Peter in absolute horror because Peter was actually flirting back. 

This was terrible. 

“No! Bad idea,” Stiles said when he was done at the register and Peter was far away in a corner of the shop, not that it mattered. Freakin’ supernatural elevated senses. “That—” he pointed at Peter, “— is the worst idea. And he’s got to be like fifteen years older than you!” 

“I like older guys. College boys suck,” Ashley said, and thrust a cup of something hot at Stiles. “Here, try this. Then dish. How do you know him?” 

Stiles floundered. “He was dating my best friend’s mom.” 

“And…?”

Well, Stiles couldn’t exactly say the whole reason Peter was dating Melissa was to get closer to Scott because of his crazy revenge agenda, so he said it didn’t work out. Ashley shrugged, and demanded his opinion on her concoction. 

Peter didn’t look up once from his laptop. Stiles didn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious by the utter show of indifference. 

At the end of his shift, Stiles wound up exiting behind Peter, who _held the door for him_ , and Stiles walked through out of habit with a muttered thanks before freezing in horror. 

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up— and he looked up at the tiny, innocuous plant hanging over the doorway to Peter, who had followed Stiles’ line of sight. Now they were blocking the entrance. 

“I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you,” Stiles said. 

“Where is your holiday spirit, Stiles? This is for charity; it said so outside.” Peter was smirking. He was right. Stiles set the sandwich board out there himself this morning— `For every smooch under the mistletoe, one dollar will be donated to Beacon Hills Children’s Hospital!`

Forget everything Stiles ever said about Christmas cheer. He officially hated the holidays. 

“I’ll donate the dollar myself,” Stiles hissed, jabbing his finger against the front of Peter’s inappropriate, cleavage revealing v-neck. He should ask his dad to arrest Peter on charges of public indecency. 

“I won’t bite,” Peter said. “Well, not unless you want me to, in which case you only have to ask.” 

Stiles went hot under his collar, and tried very hard not to think about Peter biting him, or Peter’s breath ghosting across his wrist, or anything Peter related, which was a lot harder than it had any right to be, probably because Peter was standing right there. An unmoving, well-sculpted, muscular statue. Stiles could _feel his pecs flexing under his finger_ , and he snatched his hand back. 

“I’ll kiss him for you, Stiles,” Ashley called from the bar, and no way. No way was Stiles going to inflict Peter Hale on Ashley, so he was going to have to take one for the team. 

Stiles yanked Peter closer by the front of his shirt, smashing his face against Peter's, and his lips by unfortunate association. The kiss was a punch. Stiles’ teeth clinked against Peter's, then Peter’s hand was at his jaw, changing the angle, and everything clicked. Peter's mouth was soft and warm. Unyielding. Stiles made a sound embarrassingly like a moan, and Peter laughed. Fucking laughed against Stiles before running his tongue over Stiles’ lips, thumb pressed over the leap of Stiles’ carotid. 

Peter Hale— undead creep, werewolf, and annoyingly good kisser. 

Things Stiles never wanted to find out for one hundred. 

He tore himself away and scrambled out of the door, ignoring Ashley's wolf whistle and her calling out that she added another kiss to the tally. 

What he didn’t count on was Peter going the same way, practically on his heels. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles wheezed, “stop following me, why are you following me? We’re done!” 

“Teenagers. Always such drama queens,” Peter said, rolling his eyes while Stiles sputtered, because really? Really? Peter was calling him the drama queen? Pot, kettle. “My car is parked there. Really, Stiles. It was only a kiss.” 

“I know what bad touch is,” Stiles said, scrambling to open his car door. He’s stopped by a hand flat on the handle attached to a wrist leading up to an arm with very nice biceps. Peter caged him in against his Jeep, and leaned in. 

“It’s okay to admit that you liked it. I know I’m an excellent kisser.” 

“Never again,” Stiles said.

Peter clicked his tongue. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Stiles. The holidays have only just begun.” 

And before Stiles can ask what the hell Peter meant by that— was it a threat? To catch Stiles under the mistletoe again? Because he was going to shove it down Peter’s throat next time— Peter was sauntering off to his car. 

“I will seriously punch you next time, I swear, Peter—”

Peter didn’t even have the grace to turn around. He waved over his shoulder instead, and Stiles, furious, got into his car. 

He scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, but the taste of sweet, dark coffee lingered the entire drive home.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Stiles,” Peter said, not sounding terribly surprised to see him. He lounged against the doorframe, insouciant. “Come in.” 

“You could at least act like you weren't expecting me.”

“You're not as subtle as you think.” Peter's smile was infuriating, and Stiles itched to wipe it right off of Peter's smug, handsome face. Which was justifiable grounds for kissing him, Stiles figured. 

And if one kiss turned into two turned into three, well— the mistletoe hanging above the door made him do it.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on [tumblr!](https://corrosivity.tumblr.com/)
> 
> edit: local fool didn't c&p the very last bit in, it's fixed now!


End file.
